Monday, October 13, 2014

The Inevitable De-Wheeling of My Softball Bandwagon

The
good thing about being a pessimist is that you’re never surprised when the
wheels fall off. You’re just like, “Well, that was bound to happen” and then
you deal with it. Meanwhile optimists are wracking their brains, contorting
themselves in weird and “Exorcist-y” ways all to find the elusive – and usually
non-existent – bright side to their present misfortune.

That just
sounds way too exhausting for me.

Tuesday
was supposed to be my week off from softball, but due to a lack of players I was
summoned to represent my employer in athletic competition. Furthermore, due to
a lack of female players, my girlfriend was also summoned even though she is
not an employee.

My
new-found ability to be barely adequate at softball has been well-documented. Equally well-documented (if I do say so myself) has been my
surprise at this and my expectation for me to revert back to my previous
ability level, which my 7th grade baseball coach publicly likened
to that of “an old lady.”

Well revert
it did on Tuesday night. I’d blame my girlfriend for jinxing me with her presence,
but there’s not a lawyer in the world who could make that case. We’ve all been
expecting this to happen for too long for that to be anything other than an
unfortunate coincidence.

I found
myself near the bottom of the batting order this week instead of the leadoff
spot I’d occupied recently. I should have seen this for what it was – a dark
omen of things to come – and just run off screaming into the night. But for
whatever reason, I didn’t make the connection at the time.

On
defense nothing changed. I was in my usual spot in right field, wisely placed
there to minimize the chances I’d be called upon to do anything of value and screw
it up. I had exactly one ball hit my way by the team full of righties we
played. It was a grounder. I picked it up, threw it wildly to the person covering
second, who somehow was able to field it and tag out a runner. I’m going to
give myself an outfield assist on that play even though the only reason the
play even happened was because the other team’s runner had slid well passed the
bag. The rest of my night was a whole lotta standing, which I will in no way
complain about. It’s just risk management 101.

My performance
at the plate made my wild throw to second look Hall of Fame-worthy in comparison.
First trip up: Swing at the first pitch, pop out to third, forget to run it out
because I was too busy watching to see if it went foul or not. It didn’t. Amazingly,
things managed to get even worse from there.

The
bases were loaded when I wandered up to the plate for my second at bat. Last
time I was in that situation, I grounded out to end the game so I wasn’t
exactly brimming with confidence this time around. I swung at the first pitch.
Missed. Strike one. Second pitch, same as the first and there went that. Struck
out swinging in slow pitch softball. (Everyone comes to the plate with a 1-1
count.)That’s hard to do if you’re trying.

Good
news. It gets worse.

Third trip to the plate. Once again bases are loaded because god hates me more than
he hates that Joan Osbourne song and Job combined. I vowed to myself to
take a pitch because I just can’t keep going up there and hacking at
everything. So I take the first pitch. It’s a ball. Good. Foul tip on
the second pitch. Count is even at two. Take the third pitch. Strike
out. Looking! Looking of all things. Two strike outs on one game! One
strikeout is a ridiculous failure the scope of which even Michael Bay
can’t fathom. But two? That’s unheard of. England used to draw and
quarter people for less.

The
thing is, the rest of the team was rolling. My girlfriend kept getting on base
because she’s awesome at a lot of things, but two of her favorites are softball
in general and also making me look like a chump at sports. It’s why I love her.
Elsewhere in the lineup, people kept getting home runs, triples, etc. Balls were
flying every which way.

That
was tremendous … expect for it meant I’d likely get one more at bat. I was
horrified. The only way things could get worse than back to back strikeouts
with the bases loaded would be if I made contact and the ball struck and killed
a decorated war vet or a small child who happened to be watching.

There were
runners on base when I approached the plate for at bat number four. I feared
for their safety. I feared for my own safety. There was a dog in the dugout. I
feared for that dog’s safety more than anything.

Earlier
in the game, one of my teammates told me I was standing too far forward at the
plate, so I stepped back a little. The pitch was thrown. I swung at it because
my nerves were too frayed to do anything else. I made … contact? The ball
sailed over the head of the shortstop and into the outfield. I was on first
base! Then my girlfriend got a hit because she’s better than me at sports and I
was on second! Then I came home when a guy on our team hit his third home run of
the game. That’s impressive, but then again, I struck out twice, which is also
really hard to do, so…

Anyway,
we won the game by ten runs thanks to a wonderful team effort to drag the
bloated carcass of my softball career all night long. That improves our overall
record to 2-3 on the season. Individually, I’m at 4 games played, 5-14 for a
.357 batting average with 3 strikeouts and 2 catches.

I’m scheduled
to play again next Tuesday, the final game of the regular season. After
that comes at least one playoff game, more if we win. Lots of questions
going into next week's game. Will my slight redemption at the end of
this one cause even more bad luck to come my way next week? Will … well
actually, that’s not a question. It’s pretty much a guarantee. Sigh.